


Seven Days A Week.

by Serenity70peace45



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bullying, Childhood Memories, College, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Gen, Growing Up, Loneliness, Memories, Morning Routines, Poetry, Real Life, School, Sentimental, Slice of Life, Stress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28946853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenity70peace45/pseuds/Serenity70peace45
Summary: A short poem about daily routines and how they change over the years. How age can affect how your life's routines change.
Kudos: 2





	Seven Days A Week.

At the age of six,  
I get up early.  
Mornings starting at 5:30 am,  
Can't miss the school bus.  
Racing to the bus stop,  
Waving goodbye to my mother,  
Kissing my baby sister's forehead,  
As I run out the door.   
Can't be late!  
I'm actually kind of excited.

At the age of 12,  
I still get up early.  
My new middle school classes,  
Start at 8 am.  
Grabbing my books,  
My notebooks,   
My pencil case,  
And math binder,  
I scramble.  
Can't be late!  
I'll get detention!  
I wave goodbye,  
As my sister and mother leave for her bus stop.  
A bit apprehensive and nervous.  
I hope I can make friends,  
That the bullying will stop this year. 

Now 15,  
It's early again.  
As I turn off my alarm clock.  
Do I have to go now?  
Please just five more minutes.  
I was up all night studying,  
I barely got to sleep.  
Work's been brutal,  
Debate Club is hard.  
Classes are crazy,  
Can I just get more sleep?  
Wait,  
Can't be late.  
Don't want detention.  
Racing to the bus stop again,  
Everyone else has already left,  
My house.  
Can't be late.  
More lonely days ahead.  
Heart filling with existential dread,  
As my future pressures,  
Hit me upside the head.

I'm 19.  
Staying in the dorms at school.  
The entire dorm floor reeking of weed and cherry perfume,  
Classes start at 8 am,  
Work lasting all night long.  
Can't be late.  
Wouldn't want to miss those clicker questions.  
My roommate made a mess again,  
Dirty laundry,  
Trash,  
And paper lying all over our room's floor.  
Stepping over them,  
I dash out the door.  
Feeling tired and blue,  
Not to mention,  
Incredibly stressed and worried too.

Time to wake up.  
I'm not running late today.  
Today's Sunday.  
No work to run to today.  
At least for now.  
Joints aching and stiff,  
As I get out of bed.  
I walk on to my small porch,  
Breathe in the fresh air,  
As I hear the school children go by,  
Geese honking as they fly overhead,  
And the sound of my roommate's coffee machine go off,  
Right behind me.  
My life's far from perfect.  
I struggle everyday.  
But,  
In this small moment,  
I'm at peace.  
I'm home.  
Home sweet home.


End file.
